039; backdated to midnight

[gottaknockhard]

[Here Spike was, coming back to his room after some quality time at a bar, innocently going about his day. Usual stuff. When he gets there, he doesn't bother to flip the lights on, and throws his jacket to where a chair usually sits -- only to hear it fall to the floor instead (...coincidentally causing the journal to fly out of it...). Huh.

He doesn't dwell on it though. Maybe he moved the chair and doesn't remember. Or he's more tipsy than he thought, which is always possible. Then he takes a step and immediately runs into something.]

Ow.

[-- what the? That's when he flips on the light to see a pile of shopping bags. ...

Recognition (very) slowly dawns on him as he has a better look around and gets incrementally more disturbed. Why... is he in Faye's room? How does that even happen? Did he forget what floor he was on? That's when he hears someone (who definitely isn't Faye) call out from the bed to turn off the light. That snaps his attention back to ask a much more pressing question.]

Who the hell are you?



ooc: Continuing the loss! Open over the journal.

Comments

[ofhope]

[ He's staying where he is, though, seeming uninterested in their interaction despite his 'help'. ]

[gottaknockhard]

[Well, it wasn't much, but he keeps pulling on the door as soon as he gets that small opening. It doesn't budge another inch though; which is frustrating until he realizes he's got a decent glimpse of the hallway from here. And Julia.

...

On the plus side, she can see that he's not covering for a broken arm or anything.]

I guess that's progress.

[common_name]

[Well, hey. At the very least, that's an encouraging sight. She'd be lying if she claimed she wasn't half-expecting that broken arm. Or a broken leg. Or something equally stupid that might merit a body cast.

... And maybe. Just maybe. There's some hope.]

I guess it is. [But, even so, this is said very carefully.]